Rebel No More
by Luckster25
Summary: When Monroe holds a young Rebel captive, will she fight for what she believes in, or surrender to the power of the General? Rated M for future chapters ;)
1. Chapter 1

I spat blood through gritted teeth and attempted to open my eyes. My left eye was swollen and bloody and my head lolled forward as I sat, slumped in the chair before him. As I stared downwards I noticed the floor had been splattered with crimson, as had his perfectly polished black boots. I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take. He knelt down in front of me and I turned my head away. Snatching at my jaw with his hand he pulled my face closer to his.

"Such a shame," He began, in a soft yet raspy voice. "To have to ruin something, so beautiful." He grinned and leaned closer, brushing his cheek against mine. I could feel his breath on my neck. As he pulled back he spoke again. "You know, it doesn't have to be like this. You can renounce the Rebels." His eyes bore deep into mine. "You could," He paused, and twisted a finger through my hair. "Stay here, of course. Join the Monroe Republic." He moved closer again so that his stubble scratched at my bruises, then whispered gently, "I'll give you some time to think it over." He hauled himself back to his feet and stood in front of me once more. I lifted my head to look him in the eye, and then he sent another swift, hard punch to my face, causing the chair to topple over with me tied to it. I hit the floor and groaned in agony as I felt my shoulder crack against the hard concrete. He turned and exited the room, leaving an armed guard watching over me.

I lay there, spitting blood and breathing heavily. Gradually my eyes fell shut and the events of the past two days played through my head, over and over. He'd sent the Militia to find the Rebels. When they got to us, we were ready for a fight but that wasn't what they wanted. They held us at gunpoint and ordered three of us onto their wagon. When the other rebels tried to fight back, the Militia simply opened fire on anyone stupid enough to get in their way.

The other two were already dead, brutally beaten to death and I was next in line to face the wrath of Monroe. Their bodies had been returned to the Rebels as a warning of what would happen to all of them if they didn't comply with the General, and join the Monroe Republic.

I was just ten years old when the blackout happened. I don't even remember life before the blackout. As far as I was concerned, I hadn't been born into the United States at all, I'd been born into the Monroe Republic and it was all I could remember. My parents had taught me what we were fighting for, and convinced me it was the right thing to do.

But as I lay on the cold, blood spattered concrete floor for what seemed like hours, my body numb and my head spinning, I questioned why I was still fighting for this lost cause.

"Monroe..." I choked out his name in almost a whisper, my eyes still shut tight. The guard shouted down the corridor for someone to get the General. When I opened my eyes, he was kneeling in front of me again. I rolled my head around to look at him as he stared down at me.

"I trust, you've made your decision." He raised his eyebrows as he looked at me, waiting for an answer.

"I..." My throat was day and I struggled to speak. "I don't want... To go back..." I felt a tear roll down my cheek as I spoke. He chuckled and his lips curled into a smile as he placed a hand gently on my face.

"Good decision." He stood up and headed toward the door again, stopping to speak to the guard. "Untie her. Get her a room and, see that she receives any medical treatment required."

"Yes, Sir." The guard nodded in compliance and General Monroe glanced back at me momentarily, before leaving the room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note to reader; This story is set about a year before Miles' attempted assassination of Monroe. Just clearing that up for you all.**

Two days had passed since I'd agreed to leave the rebels and stay here with Monroe. But in those two days, I hadn't seen him at all. Not since he had ordered his Militia soldiers to remove me from the prison he'd been keeping me in. And now here I was, comfortable and supposedly safe, in what was clearly just a more attractive prison cell. There was a large four poster bed to one side of the room, a desk and chair in the centre and a large dresser and mirror opposite the bed. As elegant and impressive as the room was, it still didn't change the fact that the doors and windows were bolted shut and I was, quite obviously Monroe's prisoner. Militia soldiers would come and go, brining food and water, but they never spoke to me; perhaps on Monroe's orders, or perhaps because they just didn't know what to say to me.

I stood in front of the mirror and lifted my shirt, examining the bruises that adorned my body. They were healing, at least, but my body still ached. Monroe had taken a good chunk out of my bottom lip, and my right cheek was still a dark purple. Hearing the click of a lock, I threw a glance toward the door. Monroe.

The general stepped through the door and closed it securely behind him. Smirking, he began to walk towards me. I pulled my shirt firmly back down and stepped backwards slightly, unsure what it was he wanted.

"How are you?" Monroe spoke calmly, as though his concern were sincere. I stared at the ground and nodded.

"I'm... Well. Thank you." I lied.

"I apologise for my absence." He clasped his hands behind his back and stepped closer, gazing not at me but across the room as he did so. "I've been... Busy." He stopped and smiled up at me. I raised my eyes to meet his stare. As our eyes locked I realised how terrified of this man I really was. This was Sebastian Monroe, President of the Republic and General of its unforgiving Militia. And here he stood, making small talk with me and acting like he hadn't just murdered two of my friends and threatened to kill me, too, if I didn't do as he asked.

"I..." My eyes began to fill with tears as I spoke. "I just want to go home." I stared at Monroe, hoping to catch some form of compassion in his merciless eyes.

"Home?" He smiled and a soft laugh escaped his lips. I nodded. Silencing his laugh, Monroe bit his bottom lip and sighed. "You didn't tell me your name." He tilted his head slightly, waiting for me to answer him.

"Robyn. It's Robyn."

"Well, Robyn, I'd love to let you go home. But the problem is... You really don't have a home to go back to." He made it sound as though he actually cared.

"What did you do?" I demanded, the tears now falling over my pale, bruised skin.

"Me? No. No Robyn, it's what _they_ did. They refused to join the Republic." He stepped closer so that we were face to face. I attempted to hold back the tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing my pain. Monroe stared hard at me, and then spoke again, "I had them killed." I threw Monroe a look of disgust and he returned my glare with a blank, compassionless stare. Without thinking, I clenched my hand into a fist and hurled myself towards him in blind rage. I should have known better...

Monroe caught my fist with one hand and wrapped his other hand around my throat, forcing me backwards and onto the bed. Shifting his weight on top of me, he glared at me and whispered in a furious tone, "Don't _ever _do that to me again. I've given you a chance to live. I've given you... A better life." He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip so that I found it hard to breath. "_Now show some respect_."

Before I could respond I heard the door swing open again. Monroe loosened his grip and sat up slightly as we both stared toward the door.

"Bass?" A tall, dark haired man entered, dressed in the same clothing as Monroe. "Oh, hadn't realised you were... Busy." He smirked.

"Miles." Monroe sat up and smiled. So this was Miles Matheson. Pushing himself up from the bed, Monroe rose to his feet and gestured for General Matheson to come further into the room.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything, Bass." Matheson raised an eyebrow at me and smiled.

"A few more minutes and you might have been." Monroe glared spitefully at me and then laughed alongside the other General.

"So, this is the rebel girl." Matheson approached me as I pulled myself up from the bed and straightened my shirt. "Cute," He brushed my bruised cheek with his hand and then stared at Monroe.

"Her name's Robyn." Monroe began, "Robyn, say hello to General Miles Matheson." I stared up at him but kept my mouth shut.

"Actually, Bass, the reason I'm here is you're needed elsewhere. Tom Neville has asked to see us both." Matheson spoke matter-of-factly.

"Is it important?" Monroe turned away from me as the two men spoke.

"They lost one of the rebels." Matheson dropped his gaze to the floor.

"_What_?" Monroe snapped at Miles.

"Bass, just come with me." The two men seemed to have forgotten I was still in the room, and turned to leave. Before the door clicked shut, Monroe turned back to look at me, and smiled silently. I threw myself onto the bed and buried my head in the sheets, tears streaming down my face. Dead. Everyone was, _dead_.


	3. Chapter 3

I spent the following hours sobbing quietly into the bed sheets. I couldn't believe that Monroe had ordered the death of everyone I knew; my family and friends. But I couldn't help wondering what Matheson meant when he'd said they'd _lost_ one of the rebels. I could only hope that someone had gotten away from the Militia...

Later that night I found myself exhausted, drifting into a deep sleep when I was suddenly awoken by the click of the door. I shifted slightly under the sheets and blinked in the darkness. Though there was a warm glow pouring through the windows from the firelight outside, it was still difficult to see anything in the room. A figure approached quietly. As I regained some focus in the dim light I recognised that it was Monroe. He didn't say anything, but sat gently on the edge of the bed, his hands clasped in his lap. I sat in silence and watched him. He didn't look at me, his head hung low, he breathed steadily. We sat in silent darkness for a long while before he eventually spoke.

"No doubt you heard General Matheson earlier telling me that, my soldiers _lost_ one of your rebel friends?" I didn't reply. A soft laugh echoed through the room as he began speaking again. "From what they tell me, the missing young man is _your brother_, Robyn." I sat up and stared at Monroe.

"What?"

"Eighteen years old, dark hair, forms a striking resemblance to you... They said he was demanding to know what had happened to you, before he took off running." He turned his head and smiled at me, his eyes flickering as the moonlight caught them. I blinked, unable to speak. My brother was _alive_. "So, Robyn..." The smile dropped from his face. "Where do you think your dear little brother would go?"

I didn't know.

Monroe edged closer, watching me and waiting for an answer that I knew I couldn't give him.

"You must know something." He leant closer and placed an arm either side of me, his fists pressing down onto the bed. I shook my head slightly at him.

"I don't... I don't know. How could I know?" I stammered. Monroe pressed closer; the stench of whiskey lingering on his breath, drifting over my face as he watched me. A slightly puzzled expression played across his eyes, as though he were unsure whether or not I was telling the truth. How could he even entertain the idea that I could know where my brother was?

A single tear rolled softly down my cheek. Monroe lifted his hand and wiped my cheek with his thumb. I gazed into his brilliant blue eyes and held my breath.

"It's okay." He whispered at me and smiled. "You're safe here." How could Monroe switch so easily from one emotion to the next? Not three days ago I lay bloody and beaten at his feet on a cold prison floor. And now here he was, cradling my face – the face that _he_ had bruised – and reassuring me that everything would be okay.

And I believed him.

He guided me closer until our lips met.

And I wanted him.

This was wrong. And I knew it was wrong. But still, I found myself kissing him back. His lips were soft, his stubble rough against my skin. He breathed heavily as he pushed into me.

Why was I letting this happen?

I tried to pull away but he didn't stop. I shoved my hands into his chest and forced him away from me. "I can't... Do this." I turned away from Monroe, expecting the worst. But the General didn't reply. Instead he sighed softly, stroked my face one last time and then stood, silently and turned away. I looked up to watch him leave the room. As he turned out of the door, I caught what appeared to be a smile lingering on his face. He glanced up momentarily, his blue eyes glinting in the moonlight.

"Goodnight, Robyn." His voice was a whisper as the door closed slowly behind him. I listened for the click of the lock and then fell back to the bed. Thoughts of Monroe lingered in my head, whilst I contemplated the likelihood that my brother was – as Monroe had suggested – still alive.


End file.
